


Run, Fight, Win

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-21
Updated: 2009-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As amusing as Rodney’s incessant tirades on the game being a pale imitation of war, the rants on the homoerotic tendencies of the players, and his arguments about stereotypical male aggression had all been, the game had a simplistic beauty that John just couldn’t give up on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, Fight, Win

**Author's Note:**

> [[Written for Cliché Bingo 2009. Cliché: High School/College AU ]] An excerpt from an un-posted longer story, this part I think shows the most important part of the High School AU aspect. It's almost an aside from the actual plotline.

Football was easy. John liked it _because_ it was easy. As amusing as Rodney’s incessant tirades on the game being a pale imitation of war, the rants on the homoerotic tendencies of the players, and his arguments about stereotypical male aggression had all been, the game had a simplistic beauty that John just couldn’t give up on. It was easy. It was _survival_. You ran, you fought, you won.

John was more than a dumb jock, even if he wasn’t taking the AP Physics class.

But he really, really liked football.

Sometimes.

Now, he didn’t.

The afternoon was hazy, dark, and humid in the way that usually results in heat stroke, fainting, and trips to the hospital for rehydration. The game, of course, was absolute _torture_. John was on the bench, and he wanted to throw up because of the heat. His uniform was soaked in sweat and the disgusting, plastic-tasting water that the coach is handing out. John gulped down Gatorade trying to keep himself hydrated. Think about snow, he told himself. Snow, ice cream, and walking to school in February.

He played for ten minutes and then the coach pulled him out again. John wanted to feel ashamed that his stamina was so shot to shit, but everyone forgave him because he’d been injured recently anyways, and he was just too relieved that he was off the god damn field.

It’s okay, he told himself. He hadn’t been playing any worse than he usually did, which was quite the achievement in the heat. Their defense was disintegrating in the heat like a Popsicle on the sidewalk, and the coach was muttering and pacing and chewing down hard on his nicotine-flavoured gum.

John stumbled off the field after his second ten-minute stint in play and vomited beside the bench, gasping. Bile, hot and bitter, stained the inside of his mouth and it wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he rinsed his mouth out with the warm, disgusting water.

“Feeling alright, Sheppard?” Lorne asked. He was soaked with sweat as well, but someone loved him enough to be supplying him with ice-cold water, which he let dribble down his neck and back.

“Fuck,” John responded, feeling rather eloquent. “I feel like shit, dude.”

Lorne grinned, handing him a bottle of Gatorade.

John took a single sip and then he was puking again, some of the vomit spattering on his uniform. “Motherfucking cock-sucking son-of-a-bitch dickwad cuntbag bastard _shithole_ ,” he gasped when he could finally breathe again, and then he forced himself to drink some water.

The other guys on the team smiled grimly, silently agreeing.

He glanced around, scanning the faces of the crowd around them. He couldn’t see any of the Geek Squad in the stands, and John couldn’t blame them, really. On a day like this, nobody wanted to sit around in the heat and suffer and sweat, not when you didn’t even like football. Hell, John _loved_ football and he would give his left leg to be somewhere else right now.

But still. They’d _promised_.

The coach forced him to sit in the shade, sip ice water, and not exert himself, but the game had reached a level of intensity that was ridiculous. There hadn’t been a rivalry between the two schools this morning, but the game was turning into an epic struggle to break the tie, and there was bound to be one hell of a rivalry after this. It was just a game, but tempers had flared with the heat, and both sides were Pissed Off. The tie wasn’t being broken, and John would rather lose to those motherfuckers than tie.

John tried to think cold thoughts.

He was looking around, not for anything in particular but wasting time before the coach put him back in – and he would, he’d have to, because most of the team was in far worse shape than John was – when he saw them.

Orange is a horrible school colour, John has never liked it, and doesn’t mind telling everyone his opinion on the colour orange. But then again, the Casseopeia High supporters were all wearing black or grey, so it made the others stand out even more.

John couldn’t help smiling, because of course, of course Rodney would promise to show up to a football game and would sit on the wrong side of the stands. Surrounded by Cassiopeia High fans, Rodney was sitting, wearing a hideous, obscenely orange fleece sweater in the middle of this truly disgusting heat wave, waving an enormous orange flag and swearing enthusiastically at the referees.

The rest of the Geek Squad was there too, Radek sitting beside Rodney and wearing an equally hideous button-up orange tee. Cadman was wearing a tiny white tank top, with Pegasus Central printed on it in orange lettering.

When the coach finally put him back in the game, they were almost out of time, the game was still tied, and there was no way in hell they could get the ball all the way down the field before their time ran out.

The team, huddled together around their quarterback, looked grim. Aiden Ford blinked at them, stared up at the dusty blue sky for a second. “John,” he said. “Sheppard. How fast can you run?”

The answer, of course, was ‘pretty fucking fast,’ but John shook his head. “I can make it pretty far, but nobody is in good enough shape for one of your Hail Mary tricks, Ford.”

The rest of the team agreed unenthusiastically.

“But we’re gonna do it anyways,” Ford said decisively.

“Yeah, fine,” John said grimly, scooping handfuls of sweat from the back of his neck before he put his helmet back on.

The following seventeen seconds were a blur of adrenaline. John ran. Ran as if his life depended on it. His lungs couldn’t pull in enough air but he ignored the burning and forced himself to run faster.

 _Faster_.

He looked up, saw the ball, and reached out, reached up, to catch it. His fingertips grazed it, he could feel it –

And then he tripped. He fell.

The ball landed a few feet away, in the end zone, when the time ran out.

-


End file.
